


Pistol Packin' Fella

by CoffeeMinx



Category: L.A. Noire
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Epiphany, Stefan To The Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-18 23:21:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1446631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeMinx/pseuds/CoffeeMinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy sees something he likes in Cole, and won't take 'no' for an answer. Good thing Stefan has excellent timing.</p>
<p>Title is a play on the 1943 song <i>Pistol Packin' Mama</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Pistol Packin' Fella

When Cole finally reached the top of the staircase, he couldn't believe whose smiling face greeted him. "Bekowsky! You made homicide."

"That I did. Good to see you, Phelps." Stefan held out his hand, as much to pull him up the final step as to shake. 

On the landing, Cole chuckled breathlessly and slapped him on the shoulder, his grip on Stefan's hand still firm. "Good to see you, too."

It hadn't been that long, had it? And yet, now faced with those sympathetic blue eyes, he felt something akin to relief, like an ache he didn't know he'd possessed had evaporated. 

"You two wanna hug? Or can we get on with it?"

With a guilty start, Cole released Stefan's hand and turned toward the familiar voice. Galloway stood in the apartment's doorway, leaning on the jamb and scowling.

Time to be a good example, a good leader. Cole plastered on a grin, despite the fact that the same expression had never done him any favors with his troops. "Relax, Rusty."

"What's biting you, partner?" Stefan's bewildered gaze shifted from Rusty to Cole. "He's not normally so gung-ho about working."

"Ah, but with Phelps, every date's a dream." Roy Earle sauntered to the top of the stairs, not a crease out of place despite the climb and the heat.

"Date?" Stefan's eyebrows rose.

"Case. He means case," grumbled Cole. 

"And I'm not gung-ho to work," Rusty added. "I just want you two t' start so I don't have to. Would ya interview the lady next door, Earle?"

"Sure thing, Rusty." Roy started to cross the landing, then halted when he ascertained his projected path would take him brushing along Bekowsky. "This your Polack, Galloway? Wanna move him?"

"Don't mind me." Stefan bowed and made a graceful wave of his arm toward the next-door apartment, like a high class maître d' showing them where to sit.

Cole's eyes tracked from one man to the next, certain there was something going on and no one was telling him. He managed an apologetic smile at Stefan before Roy's banging on the neighbor's door was answered.

"Hey, doll, I'm Detective Earle and this is my science teacher Mr. Phelps."

"Detective Phelps, ma'am. LAPD. Would you mind answering a few questions? It's about the incident next door."

"Oh, dear, certainly. Just…come in, come in, sit on the couch there. I'll only be a moment. I've got to turn the oven down."

Cole and Roy moved toward the room she'd indicated.

Roy snickered. "Incident. I like how you say things, choir boy."

"Shut up, Roy. And what's with the science teacher routine?"

"You need snappier clothing, sunshine. You're letting our side down with this…." He made a sweeping gesture at Cole's clothes. "What do you call that suit, anyhow?"

"Your interest in my appearance is starting to get me worried."

"Like it or not, we're a dysfunctional couple now."

"Wh-what?"

"People judge me with you on my arm, same way they would a fat broad with a five o'clock shadow."

"I really hope you're joking, Roy."

Then the lady of the house returned, and the interview began. 

\----------------------------------------------

"Quite the little reunion, this case." Roy rocked back in his chair, eyeing his partner over the small hill of end-of-shift paperwork Cole was meticulously filling out. 

Cole just grunted at him and kept scribbling, the sound of his pencil scratches loud in the otherwise darkened and silent squad room. The sun had long since set, the day shift had gone home, and the night shift was out and about.

With practiced ease, Roy glanced around—just verifying the floor was unoccupied—before letting his chair down with a bang. 

Cole's head jerked up, eyes slightly widened. He ran a hand across his scalp when no danger larger than Roy met his gaze. Didn't displace his hair any. That boy was locked down tighter than a nun's knickers.

"You can go, y'know. I've got this." Cole was scowling at him.

"And what a hard worker you are." Roy stood and stretched. "Once I heard you'd started showing up at The Blue Room, I thought you might've loosened up a bit." A couple strides and he was perched on Cole's desk. 

Cole gazed up at him and said tiredly, "You're sitting on my paperwork."

"Actually, I'm sitting on a goldmine, if I do say so myself. And so are you, kid." He chucked Cole under the chin.

Cole slapped his hand away. "What is it with you, Roy?"

"Well, I've come to a conclusion."

"About the case?"

"That's the terrier spirit. But no. Not exactly."

"Well?"

"I've been following those knife-edge creases in your trousers right up to your apple-cheeked little ass every time we walk out this door and, believe me, that prize does not belong on a goodie-two-shoes like yourself, Cole."

Cole looked up into Roy's smirk and his laughing blue eyes and wondered just when he'd fallen down Alice's rabbit hole. "Ex-excuse me?"

Roy leaned forward until Cole could feel his breath tickle hot across his ear. "I'm saying I should take you, here and now, across this desk. And you'd love every minute of it."

Cole pushed back his chair like his desk had caught fire, but somehow Roy was still with him. He propelled himself up, just trying to put distance between them, but then Roy was his twisting his arm and, before he quite realized what was happening, his cheek slammed into his desk blotter while his paperwork scattered across the floor.

"I'm warning you, Roy, I was in the Marines."

"I was in the Zoot Suit Riots. You're not impressing anyone, kid." He tugged at Cole's belt. "Let's get this off, for a start."

Heart pounding, Cole twisted and wriggled beneath Roy, icy panic making his belly clench and roll. When he felt Roy's erection prodding hard against him, he realized his fighting was only making Roy more excited.

"But—but you slept with Elsa, didn't you?"

"No, I fucked Elsa. I fuck who I want when I want."

Cole's belt hit the floor with a clang from the metal buckle. Then Roy's hand was tearing free the buttons from his trousers and invading…. Cole sucked in a breath as Roy touched him. 

"And you're not too particular who it is. I get it." Cole tried to think about anything, giant Polar Bear ice cubes, Rusty's old Nash Super 600, the bologna he'd eaten for lunch, anything other than the erotic way Roy was caressing him…and how sinfully good it felt. He bit his lip, stifling a moan.

"Oh, I'm very particular. I'm just not limited." Roy sucked on the lobe of his ear and Cole found himself reflexively thrusting into Roy's hand. Every bit of his conscience screamed this was wrong, yet all his nerves quivered in pleasure. 

Then Cole heard the smart clip of shoes on polished flooring. Someone was approaching. They would see. They would see! What was he doing? How was he going to redeem himself for the war if he was caught…like this….

"Stop…stop…." Cole tried again to free himself, to push off his desk, to no avail.

"That's just Bekowsky. He'd never interfere in my business." Roy's voice oozed a smug pride.

"Stefan! Stefan, c'mere!" Cole called, not hiding his alarm, then, softer, he growled at Roy, "You've got to stop now."

"Nah. Bekowsky's a pushover. I've got what you need right here." He thrust roughly against Cole's ass to underline his point.

"Pushover, am I?" The words snapped like a crack of lightning, sounds almost too harsh to be coming from Stefan. "Get off him."

"No dice. You had your chance." Roy thrust again, hip hitting hip, and Cole knew despite the thin shielding of his trousers that that was going to bruise. "Now get out of here and I won't say anything to Captain Donnelly."

"About what?" Stefan scoffed.

A merry sound bubbled from Roy. "I dunno yet. But I can dirty anyone's career, Polack. Wait and see."

His sentence was punctuated by a flurry of thumps and thuds, followed by a muffled crack that Cole knew from experience was the sound of a hook punch solidly connecting with a chin. As Roy's body slid from his, he sprang away from the desk.

Roy was on the floor, groggy and staying down. Bastard still hadn't wrinkled his suit, amazingly enough, though he had bled on it a little from a cut on his lip.

Stefan towered over Roy, fists raised, waiting to see if he wanted more. 

Roy waved him off. "The princess is yours, Charming. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Stefan glared down at him, disdain an icy mask on his features, but when he glanced over at Cole his face melted into his usual grin. Shaking out his right fist, he declared, "Earle always forgets, I was in the Zoot Suit Riots, too."

Cole tried to return the grin while fumbling with his trousers. There didn't seem to be any buttons left, and his fingers weren't working properly anyway. He hoped Stefan couldn't see the way his hands shook. Stupid adrenaline. Could've used it earlier.

In two long strides, Stefan was at his side, scooping up his belt on the way. He handed it to Cole, then took it back when Cole missed threading the first loop.

"Give it here. One of the first things you learn at a Central division retirement party is how to help drunks dress. Not saying you're drunk, of course."

The leather snicked seamlessly through each fabric loop and, with Stefan's arms on either side of him, encircling him with the belt, he felt warm and protected. Which was ridiculous but nice just the same.

Stefan finished with Cole's buckle and then shrugged out of his own jacket. "Take this. It'll be a little long on you, and hide a multitude of sins, right?"

Cole winced at the words.

"Sorry. I didn't mean…."

"It's okay. Thanks." He buttoned the suit jacket closed. Stefan was right. He was now decent enough to go out on the streets. Not that he wanted to go out on the streets. He couldn't face Marie just now. She was an angel and he…

He looked into Stefan's concerned face and felt his pulse skip, along with an attendant pull deep inside. He hadn't recognized the feelings before Roy…. He hadn't wanted to recognize them. But he knew. He knew all along.

He wanted to sleep with Bekowsky. 

Lord, he was fated to be a disappointment to everyone. 

As long as Stefan didn't know, everything was still okay. He just had to quit…staring at his lips. Had he thanked him yet? He hadn't thanked him.

"I…umm….thanks. For. Y'know."

"Oh. Anytime. I mean. Obviously not…err…I wouldn't want that to ever happen again to you. Obviously."

"Right. Yeah."

"But. Any time you need me, Cole…. You know you only have to ask."

"Same here." Why did the man have to be so compassionate and attractive and…. "'If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant'," he mumbled before he fully realized he was vocalizing his thought. Damn adrenaline.

"What's that?"

"What? Nothing. Shakespeare."

"Oh."

"Dammit, you knuckleheads, kiss already. I'm dying over here."

"Shut up, Roy," they answered in unison. Although maybe, for once, Roy had the right idea.


End file.
